around, no... fill in the blank (and all etched in stone, mind you!)...

I am inching that book-drawer open and letting my felonious fingers,

the new 'tenants,' do their walking, their sleuthing, and eventually

the excavating of the first of its treasures, a slender volume titled

Nine Short Stories with all nine emblazoned on the cover, some of which

oddly intrigue— especially “Just Before the War with the Eskimos" and

“A Perfect Day for Bananafish”... —from a random page I read:

…a woman with zinc salve on her nose got into the elevator with the young man.“I see you’re looking at my feet,” he said when the car was in motion.“I beg your pardon?” said the woman.“I said I see you’re looking at my feet.”“I beg your pardon. I happen to be looking at the floor,” said the woman, and faced the doors of the car.“If you want to look at my feet, say so… But don’t be a goddamn sneak about it.”“Let me out of here, please,” the woman said quickly to the girl operating the car.

I smirk, helplessly smitten— Fate, in the guise of Alphabetical Seating which

could have sat me in the desk of the romance-rag-reading Home Ec girl or the